With Permission
by mosylu
Summary: We all know Cisco's a big giant pizza pocket thief, much to Caitlin's consternation. But twice in his life, he got permission to eat her pizza pockets. Momentous occasions indeed. Killervibe friendfluff and then romfluff.


Cisco threw out a carton of scary Chinese, a styrofoam clamshell of something that might have once been a burger, and a tupperware of … nope, he wasn't even going to speculate on whether it had been food or one of her experiments.

He shut the fridge, held his breath while he tied up the garbage bag, and carried it out to the garbage chute, still trying to hold his breath. Because wow. Whatever was in that tupperware was seriously trying to melt his corneas.

He decided to check the freezer, since he was in throwing-shit-out mode.

He evaluated and put back several frozen dinners, but tossed some freezer-burned meat and a half-pint of ice cream filled the rest of the way with ice crystals. One last box, shoved in the back, caught his eye, and he pulled it out.

Pizza pockets. He couldn't imagine Caitlin chowing down on these. She was more likely to start spouting a lecture on their sodium and trans fat content. They had to belong to Ronnie.

If she opened up her freezer and saw these, it could trigger another silent, withdrawn spell, and he hated those. They scared him, and they felt like backsliding after all the work he'd put into making sure she ate and showered and generally maintained herself as a human being in the three weeks since the particle accelerator explosion.

And some days, keeping her maintained as a human being was the only thing that kept him the same way.

He snuck across the apartment, eased the door open, and poked his head inside. She was all curled up in a pile of blankets, sleeping deeply.

He eased the door shut, reasoning with himself. She'd given him total access to her fridge and freezer, after all. Actually, she'd mumbled, "I don't care, do whatever you want, I don't care," as she burrowed into her pillow.

But whatever he wanted probably included eating those perfectly good pizza pockets instead of throwing them away, right? Sure, right. As long he microwaved them quickly and chowed down and opened the windows, she wouldn't even smell them. And he was _hungry._

When he bit into the first steaming hot pizza pocket, he let out a little "Mmm." Ronnie had gone for the good ones with the chewy cheese and the sausage -

For a moment he was swamped with sorrow for his lost friend. Then a noise brought his head up.

Caitlin was standing in the door, glaring at him. "What are you doing with my pizza pockets?"

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I thought you were - " Her question registered. "Wait, these are yours?"

"Yes, they're mine."

He looked at the box. "They're not even whole wheat. Or low fat, or veggie - "

She scowled. "Yes? And?"

"Seriously? Yours."

She went a little pink. "Okay, I know they're not the best. The sodium content alone is honestly terrifying. But I got a little bit addicted when I was in med school and I like them as an occasional snack, okay?"

"I'm not judging you." She'd seen the contents of his pantry, after all. But because she'd lectured him about diabetes, cholesterol, and tooth decay upon viewing said pantry, he couldn't resist adding, "Although you've got a point about the sodium content." He picked up the box. "It's really appalling."

She turned pinker and bit her lip. "Was that the last box?"

"Uh. Yeah. But there's still a whole one if you're hungry?" He held the second pizza pocket out, still warm in its little cardboard sleeve.

She ate with more gusto than he'd seen in three weeks. He sat watching her, baffled. Here he'd tried to get, like, salads and vegetables and whole-wheat pizza crust and, you know, healthy stuff. More often than not, he'd had to beg her just to choke down a bite or two. And all this time, what she'd really wanted was the kind of snack you ate at two AM when playing video games.

She looked up and caught his eye. "That's the last time you eat my pizza pockets."

"Never again," he promised.

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow," Caitlin whimpered, easing her shoes off.

"Your fault for wearing those," Cisco mumbled into the pillow.

She plopped onto the bed, sticking her feet out and wiggling her toes. "They're very comfortable shoes, considering. I've just been on them for the past eight hours. A lot of it dancing."

"It was an awesome party," he agreed, holding his hand up.

She high-fived. "Can you get my zipper?" she asked.

He rolled to his side and eased her zipper down. She sighed and wiggled, snake-like, out of the slinky beaded gown, and then did some female magic and sent her strapless bra sailing across the room. With a groan, she flopped sideways onto the pillow next to him and rolled into his side.

He slid his arm around her shoulders. "Holy crap," he mumbled. "This is how tired I am. My brand new, smokin' hot wife is lying next to me in lingerie, and all I wanna do is cuddle."

She yawned hugely. "I'm fine with rescheduling sex with my brand new, smokin' hot husband for tomorrow morning."

"Deal." He kissed her.

Something dinged, and he broke the kiss. "What's that?"

She pushed herself up. "A surprise."

"We already rescheduled sex, so what's the surprise?"

She didn't answer, but rolled off the bed and walked across the giant bridal suite to the mini-kitchen. When the microwave popped open, he sniffed the air. "Whaaaaaat."

She grinned over her shoulder.

He found the energy to sit up. "Oh my god, really? I've spent the past five years sneaking around eating your pizza pockets and replacing them like the super-stealth stealthmeister I am - "

"Hardly," she said.

"And all I had to do to get one was marry you?"

"Don't get used to it," she warned, bringing a plate with two steaming hot pizza pockets back to the bed. "This is a special occasion. They're still my snacks."

He scootched up against the headboard and steadied the plate on the mattress while she climbed back into bed and got settled. "So what did you do on your wedding night, Cisco? Oh, it was magical, I finally got to eat my wife's pizza pockets. Not even a euphemism."

They didn't find the energy to re-reschedule sex, but with their stomachs full of pizza pockets, they were able to add some serious married making-out to their wedding-night cuddles.

FINIS


End file.
